


The Unholy Trinity

by Synekdokee



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Crack, Ficlet Collection, Gun Kink, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, features:, sex under the influence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:06:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/pseuds/Synekdokee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three short ficlets originally written for Tumblr, handily sort of reflecting each character, but only in a very shallow way because mostly I'm just full of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Franklin - Learn a New Thing Every Day

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous prompted me: "Michael teaches Franklin to shoot."
> 
> It derailed quickly. But then, that seems to be the norm with Michael and Trevor, from Frank's point of view.
> 
> (Also, this is the bit where I admit I’ve never even held a gun in real life. I suppose realistically they’d be wearing mufflers, but for the sake of dialogue I dropped that.)

”Easy!” Michael said, drawing out the word as he placed his hand over Franklin’s where it was curled around the shotgun. “You’re gonna sprain your damn shoulder with a posture like that.”

He tugged Franklin’s shoulders back firmly and then gave his lower back a nudge. “Shift your centre of gravity and maybe you won’t fall on your ass when it kicks back.”

“Thanks, pops,” Franklin drawled, shooting Michael a look over his shoulder. “Not like I’ve been handling guns since I was running around in diapers.”

“And you still aim like a three-year-old! I’m not taking you anywhere with marksmanship like you were taught by a brain damaged chimp!” He shot a dirty look at Trevor who was sitting lazily on the fence, swinging his legs. “One,” he said, “you’re gonna get us all killed when you fail to cover us.”

“Hey!” Franklin said sharply, lowering the gun to point at the ground and turning to face Michael.

“*Two*,” Michael continued, “I am not gonna be caught dead in the company of anyone who can’t take care of himself in a gunfight. Do you have any idea how much being seen hanging around amateur associates can damage your reputation?”

Franklin gave him a side-eyed head-shake before turning back to face the range, lifting the shotgun up. “Anyone ever tell you you have a serious bug up your ass,” he asked. Trevor’s assertive “I have!” was drowned under the sound of the gunshot as Franklin squeezed the trigger lightly.

 

He lowered the shotgun again, and his shoulder twinged, a bruise already forming no doubt. “It’s fine,” he said dismissively, but the smug grin on Michael’s face told him he wasn’t a very convincing liar.

Trevor hopped off the fence and strode over, wordlessly taking the gun from Franklin’s hands. With practiced ease he grabbed the forend with one hand and jerked his arm hard in a pumping motion to load the shotgun, not pausing even for a second as he extended his arm out, a firm grip on the barrel, his finger lying against the trigger guard. His free arm hung loosely against his side, his posture relaxed and confident, as though to prove how easy operating a pump shotgun one-handed was.

The stock of the gun rested against Trevor’s thick forearm, balanced. Trevor slipped his finger on the trigger and fired. The target blew to tiny smithereens. Turning the barrel up, still single-handed, he gave it another hard pump, and, this time moving a little slower, settled to aim, now resting the butt of the gun against his shoulder and using both arms to aim and operate.

Franklin turned around to give Michael a “can you believe this motherfucker?” look, but seeing the vacant smirk on Michael’s face as he very unsubtly stared at the strong line of Trevor’s shoulders, the muscles of his back pulling his stained t-shirt tight, emphasizing his trim waist, Franklin decided it was best to keep his mouth shut.


	2. Michael - Outrun My Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael trying to assert his dominance leaning on the one thing he's good with - guns. Not sure it went the way he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I have a gun-kink, and I love an in-charge Michael, and even more I love people being taken down a peg. Who gets taken down here is a matter of interpretation.
> 
> (Inspired by this piece of game artwork: http://25.media.tumblr.com/1fc852b8e8ba2b0662195c4d14fa0ecd/tumblr_mu5udcLRh01r14tj6o1_500.jpg )

"You gonna suck it or what," Michael said, nudging the muzzle of the gun against Trevor’s shoulder.

"You gonna shoot me if I don’t?"

"I just fucking might. Getting a little frustrated here." He pressed the gun alongside Trevor’s neck, pulling him closer to his crotch. Trevor rolled his eyes but put his hands on Michael’s belt buckle, opening it with a clink.

"You know," Trevor drawled, "you could just ask _nicely_. No need to be such a _dick_ about it." He placed the heel of his hand against the bulge in Michael’s slacks for good measure, drawing a groan from him.

"That’s pretty damn rich coming from a man whose vocabulary doesn’t include the word "please," Michael panted, sliding the gun up to Trevor’s cheek.

With a sharp grin, Trevor tilted his head and gave the barrel a long, filthy lick, giving an exaggerated moan.

Michael laughed, shaking his head. “You’re fucking unhinged.”

"Hey! Says the man pointing a gun at the guy about to blow him!" Trevor pulled down the zipper slowly, a shit-eating smirk on his face.

Michael slipped his finger off the trigger as he moved the gun to press against Trevor’s lower lip, pressing in gently.

"Mind the teeth or I’ll knock ‘em out," he hissed. Breathing shallowly he watched Trevor reach into his trousers and pull his cock out, giving it a few firm strokes before ducking his head away from the gun and pressing his mouth against the base of Michael’s prick.

Half a minute later the gun clattered to the ground, Michael practically feeling Trevor’s gleeful smile as he buried both hands in Trevor’s thinning hair, groaning loudly as he thrust his hips against the grip of Trevor’s hands on his waist.


	3. Trevor - Whatever the Fuck Your Fake Name Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, Ten Years Earlier. Back when Michael was still just Townley, and Trevor wasn't the only one who needed to be reeled in a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of cracky. I wanted to write something before it all went pear-shaped, and when Trevor maybe wasn't as deeply affected by Michael's death and his subsequent reappearance.

Trevor had left Michael in the living room trying to survive a bad trip and a bender verging on alcohol poisoning, and gone to bed to sleep off his own substance abuse-induced psychosis. He’d barely kicked his shoes off as he slumped on the bed before he was asleep.

He woke up in the pitch-black bedroom with a ringing headache, his mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton balls. There was a heavy weight on his chest and before he had time to react, something fleshy smacked him on the cheek.

"-the fuck," he growled, trying to lift his arms to push whoever was fucking with him off, and preferably shove a shoe up their a-hole. Problem was, his arms were pinned. By someone straddling his chest.

And slapping him with their bared dick.

Trevor graned, his head flopping back in resgination.

"That’s the last time I share my stash with you, Mikey."

There was a breathless huff of laughter, Michael shifting on top of him, sliding his cock along Trevor’s jawline.

"Loosen up, T," he said, with a slight manic tone to his voice. "You’re always telling me to be more impulsive"."

"I meant with whores and maybe with your anal-retentive planning of hits, you dipshit! Get the fuck off of me before you give me a disease."

More shifting, and Trevor felt Michael moving closer. “Don’t ruin it now, pal. Be a friend?” he wheedled, his prick slipping over Trevor’s mouth.

With an angry groan Trevor licked his lips, his tongue brushing across the head of Michael’s cock by accident.

"Oh, jesus," Michael gasped breathlessly, and unceremoniously shoved his cock into Trevor’s mouth, eliciting an enraged and somewhat muffled shout from Trevor.

Trevor gagged lightly, jerking his head back and thinking he was not above headbutting Michael’s over-eager weiner to teach him to keep it in his pants, when Michael groaned, a stuttered “fuck” spilling from his mouth before he was coming all over Trevor’s face.

They sat still in stunned silence, Trevor’s mind busily running a million different scenarios of Michael’s bloody death, all ending with Michael’s own dick stuffed in his stupid, no-tolerance-for-drugs-whatsoever head.

"Oh. Shit." Michael said in the darkness.

"You don’t say," Trevor growled. "If I’d known you’d go off like a fucking 15-year-old wank-rag I would’ve saved us both this humiliation and bought you a hooker on my own dime. Jesus Mikey."

 

"Shut the fuck up," Michael hissed, clambering off Trevor and crawling about on the bed. Trevor jerked his hands up, wiping the cooling spunk off his face like it was acid.

"You’re fucking disgusting, Townley," he snapped. "That’s the last time I let you go unfucked for more than a week, you sick fuck."

"You’re not exactly a paragon of sexual consideration yourself, you know," Michael said irritably.

Trevor felt Michael settling down somewhere at the foot of the bed, feet brushing against Trevor’s side until Trevor angrily shoved them furter.

They lay quietly in the darkness, both trying to get past the recent trauma.

"Trevor?"

"Yeah?"

"…we never mention this to anyone.”

"I’ll never again feed you drugs when you’re too boozed-up to comprehend what’s happening."

"Deal."

"Deal."


End file.
